


Til The Colors Fade

by InSpades



Category: Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InSpades/pseuds/InSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark finds Lois again. Lois thinks she might just want to keep him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he spends the night in her apartment, she can't sleep. She's certain that at any moment the NSA or the CIA or the Navy SEALs will come crashing into her apartment and take him away from her. She wants to be awake when it happens, doesn't want to be taken by surprise, curled around her lover and blissfully unaware.

He assures her that he was not followed, that several spy satellites in the area went... "off-line" in the last few days. That nobody paid any attention at all to the scruffy farm boy wearing a flannel shirt and faded jeans, his baseball hat slung low over his eyes. And that is indeed how she finds him, waiting for her in the hallway outside her apartment as she steps off the elevator carrying an armful of groceries.

It has been three weeks since she saw him last, since she kissed him in the rubble of Metropolis and held him as he shook with horror over what he had done. Then he had been gone. In the first few days, she had been too exhausted, too overwhelmed to miss him. And then he was everywhere, on every newspaper in every newsstand, on every channel, the topic of every conversation around every water cooler. She couldn't escape him... she couldn't find him either. She began to wonder if maybe she had imagined everything, had assigned some meaning to the kiss that he never intended. But then he finds her.

She grins as he follows her inside, tossing his hat on the hook by the door as if he'd done it a thousand times. He helps her put away the groceries and is kind enough not to say anything about the crap she eats to keep herself alive. Then all the cans are put away and there is nothing left to do but stare at each other across the expanse of the tiny kitchen, until she moves first and launches herself into his arms. He is so warm and solid, his arms wrapping around her. He buries his face in her shoulder and murmurs "I missed you, Lois" into her hair. She grins against his chest and then he is tipping her chin upwards, finding her lips with his.

It is gentle at first, so gentle. And then her back settles against the wall and his hands find her hips, lifting her. She wraps her legs around his narrow waist and fists her hands in his shirt, eventually finding the buttons and pushing the plaid back off his shoulders. His mouth finds her collarbone, moves across her chest and latches onto the pulse point in her neck. She wonders if they should talk, she has so many questions for him, so many things she wants to tell him. But then his lips are moving and she feels like she's falling, hurtling towards earth. Again.

She gasps, arches, and he stops what he's doing, lets her slide to the floor. His eyes are full of concern, his hands hovering over her shoulders as if he's afraid to touch her. She smirks and shakes her head, slides past him and grabs his wrist on the way to her bedroom. He lets her pull him along and she thinks it's adorable. Lois Lane never uses the word adorable; Lois Lane also never invites aliens into her bed. Lots of firsts today, she thinks, as she finishes removing his shirt and drops it on the floor by their feet.

He is so beautiful, she awes, as her hands trail down his chest. He could be with anyone and he is here, in her tiny apartment, looking at her like... she's not sure, but she never wants him to stop. She blushes then (another first), as his hands tug at her t-shirt, pulling it over her head. He finds the scar, his fingers ghosting over the spot where he burned her. The first time he saved her life. There are scars from the other times too, he'll discover later. But for now he's focused on this one.

"Does it still hurt?" She shakes her head, no. It had hurt for days after, weeks, but the doctors told her he had saved her life. She would have bled out in the Arctic and missed all of this, all of wonderful this.

"I never said thank you," she whispers. He grins and then he is suddenly serious.

"You never have to." And then he is pushing her back onto the bed, his hands spanning her back to support her as they fall towards the mattress. He is unbelievably gentle as they work together to remove the last of their clothing. As he slides inside of her she wonders if it is too fast, wonders why it didn't happen weeks ago, wonders when it will happen again (32 minutes after the first time, she later discovers).

They talk after, when he is sprawled sweaty across her bed and she is tucked into his side, exhausted and happy and deliciously sore. Nothing heavy, nothing sad. They can do that later. He tells her about rebuilding his mom's house, claims he read all her articles. She blushes again, remembering that they are almost all about him. She tells him about the first article she ever wrote for the Planet, a crap piece about a Star Wars convention. Her first embedded assignment... as Princess Leia. He laughs and she thinks it's the best thing she's ever heard.

He eventually drifts off to sleep, the lines on his face softening. He had been exhausted when he first arrived, the dark circles under his eyes a dead giveaway. She doesn't know how long he will sleep for, how long a Kryptonian needs to sleep, but she is content to let him for as long as he likes.

She, on the other hand, is a ball of nervous energy, unable to close her eyes for fear that he will be gone when she opens them. She slides out of bed and wraps herself in his shirt, then goes to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. The clock reads 1:27 and she knows it's only a matter of time until they beat down her door. She settles in by the window, takes first watch. It is here that he finds her, closing in on three in the morning.

She hears him shuffle out of bed, watches with exhaustion as his hands envelop hers and pry the cold mug out of her grip. "Come back to bed, Lois," he rumbles, his voice thick with sleep. She looks up at him and nods, follows him back to her bed, lets him tuck her in and then sighs as he settles in behind her, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

She wakes up to an empty bed, sunlight streaming through the windows. She could cry, but then she smells fresh coffee and she knows the NSA would never be so considerate. He's waiting for her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as if he's always been there. She wonders if someday this will be their routine, then curses her hopeful heart. Don't be stupid, Lane. Don't get hurt.

He pours her a mug, kisses her despite the morning breath. "Good morning" he greets her, one hand cupping her face, his thumbing sliding across her cheekbone.

"Good morning," she returns. "Sleep well?" He nods. Grins. There is a playful gleam in his eyes as he drinks her in, still wearing his shirt. Her breath catches in her throat and she realizes then how much trouble she's in. She doesn't dare call it love, not yet, but her reporter instincts tell her to keep digging.

"I have to be at the Planet in forty five minutes," she informs him before taking a long drag of coffee. This isn't the cheap stuff she buys, she realizes. She wonders what else he was up to while she was sleeping.

"So do I." She cocks an eyebrow in response. "Interview." She looks at him like he just told her he's an alien that can fly.

"Really? What for?"

"And you call yourself an investigative reporter," he teases. "You didn't pull my college transcripts?"

"I wasn't nearly as interested in your grades as I was your extra-curriculars. I mean... Chess club? Really, Clark?" He laughs and she realizes she likes making him produce that sound; wants to do it again. Something about bantering with the most powerful man on the planet in her kitchen over cups of coffee (while wearing his shirt) makes her feel...Almost giddy.

"I thought it might be nice to have a job. Something that would allow me to keep an eye on things. Something that would give me a reason to stay in Metropolis."

"I think I could give you one or two more,"she murmurs, then cringes inwardly. This isn't her talking, she isn't like this. Maybe she is now though.

He laughs and pulls her to him, kisses her thoroughly. She can feel him grinning against her lips and she wants to let herself get lost in this happiness. There is so much that still needs to be said and done, but for now she will push that aside and just be here, with him, while she can.

Later, when she is at work (and if she arrived a few minutes late, well... She had good reason), she hears from a source in Washington that they're calling in Olympic athletes, Heisman trophy winners, half of the players from the Metropolis Generals for unspecified "testing." She breathes a sigh of relief that Clark, with his blue ribbons in 4H, will not immediately draw suspicion. And when she sees him arrive on his bicycle, wearing those ridiculous glasses, she nearly weeps with joy. She knows she'll always share half of him with Metropolis, with the world, but she doesn't think Clark the man is in danger of disappearing anymore.

"Welcome to the Planet."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally intended for this to be a oneshot, but then the idea for this chapter came to me and I couldn't resist. Thanks for all the positive reviews and kudos. Hope you enjoy (and there may be a third in the works, but I make no promises).

The first time she spends the night in his apartment, they eat pizza and drink beer sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed. It is the only piece of furniture in the small loft he has rented, all the way across the city from Lois's in a neighborhood that's just on the wrong side of seedy. But it's close to a great hole-in-the-wall pizza place and there's a window that faces a secluded alley, perfect for coming and going as he pleases. When she expresses concern about the distance and the traffic between them, he just quirks a smile and says, "I don't think it will be a problem." 

"Well, not all of us can just..." she makes a little flying motion with the hand that's not holding her beer and accompanies it with a "whoosh." 

"Uh, I do not 'whoosh', Lois," he argues, but there is humor in his tone and his eyes twinkle in a way that she's come to love in the last few weeks. 

"You totally do, Clark" she teases. "Speaking of, you sure that's a good idea, Smallville?" she asks as he reaches for the last beer in the six pack. "Don't want you to get pulled over when you're whooshing me home." Her lips twist as she tries not to laugh. 

"Who says I'm taking you home, Miss Lane?" He drops the beer back into the cardboard carrier and slides the empty pizza box onto the floor and before she knows it she is flat on her back as his fingers lightly tickle her sides, snaking up under her sweater. As he listens to her giggle and watches her red hair spill across his mattress, he thinks he never wants her to leave. 

 

Later he watches her as she sleeps, her head pillowed on his bicep, his sheets wrapped around her naked body. Her breath is soft and warm against the side of his neck, her hand comforting as it rests against his chest. For a moment he lets himself pretend he is just a normal guy with a normal life. They could just be two people who met at the office, started dating after the Christmas party, discovered they had the same taste in movies and Thai food. 

A siren three miles away and the pop and crackle of an apartment fire on the other side of the city pull him back to reality. He eases his arm out from underneath her, grimaces as she shifts and readjusts on the pillow. She's been pulling long nights, staying up late working on a series about the reconstruction efforts, and he hates to wake her. But she burrows down in the covers and her breathing stays slow and deep. He slips quietly into the suit and slides the window open, then he stops and doubles back to the bed and drops a feather light kiss on her temple. He'll ask her about movies and Thai food tomorrow. 

 

She's awake when he slips back into the apartment with the early morning sun, covered in soot, broken glass in his hair. She looks up from her laptop and greets him with a soft smile and a softer "hey." 

"Hey," he murmurs. He holds her gaze for a beat before ducking into the bathroom. She hears the shower turn on and knows he's washing off some perceived failure on his part. She hasn't known him for long, but she can already read his moods and she knows he needs his space right now. 

When he reemerges smelling like soap and looking more like Clark than Superman, he finds her in his too-small kitchen fiddling with the french press, surrounded by half a dozen open boxes. 

"It's about time you start unpacking," she offers by way of explanation. He just laughs and fishes two mugs out of one of the boxes. She pours him a cup, then takes her own back to his bed where her laptop is still open. His Metropolis Monarchs t-shirt rides up, exposing her thighs as she settles in, taking care not to spill. When she notices him looking, she ducks her head, letting her hair fall across her face to hide the flush that's creeping up her neck. 

"You're beautiful," he says, and then he smirks when he realizes he's rendered her utterly speechless. "But you make terrible coffee." She takes a tentative sip and her face screws up in disgust before she laughs. 

"Oh, that's awful." Still laughing, she pushes off the bed and crosses the room to dump the offending liquid down the sink. As he does the same, she snakes her arms around his middle and presses her face into the space between his still damp shoulder blades, planting a kiss there. "You know, maybe I'm just cataloguing your weaknesses to exploit at a future date." He can feel her smile against his skin before he twists in her embrace so he can wrap his arms around her tiny frame and kiss her like he's been wanting to since he got back from the fire. Since he met her, really. 

"You, Lois Lane, are definitely one of my weaknesses." And he's not sure how it happened really, but when he finds her lips with his he thinks he's okay with it. 

 

An hour later when she's settled into her desk at the Planet finishing the last of her revisions before Perry's daily staff meeting, she's interrupted by a familiar hand setting a paper cup of coffee in front of her. She takes a sip and murmurs appreciatively. 

"Mmmm... But I think I owe you the coffee." 

"Staff meeting in three minutes. Not all of us can just whoosh, Lois." He winks at her from behind the thick rim of his glasses (if he's perfectly honest, he misses the beard but the glasses are growing on him). The smile he gets in response clears everything up for him. 

He's definitely okay with it.


	3. Chapter 3

There is no more her apartment or his apartment… it is just their apartment. The idea still feels foreign to Lois, but here she is unpacking books and deciding which drawer to store the flatware in. Because Clark had insisted on a larger kitchen, she actually has more than one drawer to choose from. How novel. Her only requirement for their new place was close proximity to the Planet and a promise that she never be expected to utilize said kitchen. Remembering her few failed attempts at dinner, Clark had eagerly agreed to her terms. He had also agreed to help finish unpacking tonight but his other duties had called him away at the last minute. By the time she’s finished shelving the last of the books, it is nearing one in the morning. She sighs, says a silent prayer for him (wherever he is) and slides into bed exhausted. 

She wakes up to sunlight streaming into the room and ghosts a hand over to his side of the bed. It’s cold and the sheets are still pulled up to the pillow, but she smells fresh coffee and something else that is decidedly pastry in nature. Sure enough he is in her kitchen – their kitchen, she mentally corrects herself – dressed for work, drinking coffee and reading the paper over the counter like he didn’t just spend the last twelve hours flying around the globe and rescuing humanity from itself.   
“Good morning,” she greets him, voice still foggy with sleep, as she slides past him and makes for the coffee. She never quite reaches the machine; he snags her around the waist with one arm and pulls her in for a lingering kiss to the forehead. “Morning,” he murmurs, his lips still pressed against her skin, his hand splayed across the small of her back. Another kiss lands on her cheek, then another against the side of her neck. She lets him burrow his face into her hair while snakes one hand up and runs it through his nape, feels the tension leave his neck as he takes a few deep breaths.

“How was your night?” he asks when he finally pulls away. 

“Fine, I think I got most of the boxes unpacked. You have an embarrassing number of John Grisham novels, you know.” She smirks at him over her shoulder as she moves towards the cabinet with the mugs. 

“Two doors to your left,” he corrects her. She adjusts, wonders briefly how often he uses that trick, then grabs the carafe of coffee. “And I’m pretty sure I saw Fifty Shades of Grey hiding on one of your shelves.” She can’t see him but she can hear the teasing in his tone.

“It was research! And I didn’t hear any complaints, even if I did ruin your tie.” She hears him choke on his coffee; she doesn’t have to look at him to know that his cheeks are turning the most adorable shade of pink. “How was your night?”

“Mudslide in Chile. Miners trapped in South Africa. One bank robbery. Two cats in trees.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, they’ve been getting a lot of rain in Chile.” She rolls her eyes, her mouth too full of maple icing to sass him back. 

“Mister Mittens. And Ralphio. I think somebody got a cell phone video of the first one.” She makes a mental note to check YouTube later, takes another bite of donut. 

“When you’re done imagining me holding a kitten we should probably talk about the mine. I think those men were trapped there on purpose. And I noticed Luthor’s name on most of the machinery.” Okay, so it’s uncanny how that man can read her mind, but there’s no time to dwell on it. Not when there’s a story to investigate. Clark’s instincts are second only to hers so she knows he’s on to something. She pushes aside any images of Clark and Mister Mittens, her mind already trying to recall any media mentions of Luthor’s business in South Africa.

“I’ll get dressed,” she says, slamming back the remainder of her coffee before pressing a sugary kiss to his lips. “And I might even let you have first credit on our byline.” He snakes an arm around her waist and traps her against him, pulling her in for another kiss.

“You won’t. But I love you anyway.” He releases her and watches with fondness as she flies into their bedroom – their bedroom! – a flurry of red hair and theories on the story he’s presented her with. She’s already got it mostly figured out by the time she appears in the doorway, shirt half un-tucked and one shoe on, her hair pulled back haphazardly. He has half a mind to call in sick, help her out of that pencil skirt, pull the elastic out of her hair. There’s a new king sized bed to break in, never mind all the counter space in this new kitchen. It could take all day. But she’s already grabbing her shoulder bag off the hook by the door, fishing around in it for her keys. “Let’s go, Smallville!” He grins and follows her out the door; there’ll be plenty of time later. 

That afternoon, when she’s down in the Planet archives pulling information on Luthor’s mining operations, Clark’s cell phone pings. A text from Lois: “I love you too, you know.” He feels that thrill, the same one he gets when he’s flying, but his feet are firmly planted on the ground. He thinks about the past and about new beginnings. About a first meeting in a cave and shared mornings lingering over coffee. About a first kiss in a warzone and an engagement ring that’s tucked into the back of his desk drawer. He doesn’t know when yet, but he thinks soon.

His phone pings again and he snatches it up, another text from Lois. This time it’s a picture of him in the suit, snuggling a terrified but grateful looking calico against his chest. Below it: “Should I be jealous?” He laughs and slips the phone into his pocket before heading for the elevators.

Forget later. There are still a few aisles in archives they haven’t checked out yet.


End file.
